Fire, Ice and Sapphire
by NovaPipping
Summary: Stories of Saph, Dragonborn, and Talvas Fathryon, Neloth’s apprentice, after events of game (main quest and DLCs).
1. The First Step

Talvas began to make his way towards the kitchen; he'd been pouring through various detailed volumes, researching other Guardian spells in order to try to understand more about the theory and mechanics behind the summoning. And now, eyes a little itchy from focussed reading and his brain buzzing, he needed a drink.

Walking down the pathway from the main tower of Tel Mithryn, Talvas paid little attention to the surroundings, and let his feet guide him with muscle memory. His mind was caught between his fresh research, his thirst for something sweet, and now, a new thought was forming, in the shape of a certain someone: Saph.

The last time they had spoken, she had been so... fragile. Shaken up from that recent trip to Apocrypha. She'd never been like that before; the deadric realm had never hindered her, despite the stories of others' experiences. That writhing tentacle must have tried to slither its way into her head. It wasn't solely Mora to blame, though, he thought. Something else had affected her, after she had returned. It was as if she had suddenly received some terrible news and didn't know what to do. And being helpless, Talvas knew, was not a state Saph liked to find herself in.

He hadn't pushed her though. He thought that trying to make her talk would have only made her withdraw further. So when she had said that she needed to go, to be alone, he'd made no objection.

It was now, however, that doubt settled itself into the base of his mind. Maybe letting her leave was not the best thing to do. He had no idea where she had gone and had no idea how damaged she was; how vulnerable. Not that Saph would ever allow herself to be vulnerable.

But that could not shake the worry Talvas now found himself wading through as he crossed towards the rounded door of the kitchen. He looked out across the landscape, toward the northern mountains, coated in the remnants of the ash storm that had just passed, and vaguely guessed at where she might be.

Then, there she was. A solid figure ploughing up the mound towards Tel Mythrin. There was a lift in Talvas' chest, ever so slight but it pulled him from his path and he began to walk towards her.

She wasn't in her armour. It was such a strange sight to see her at her natural size - her actual figure, without the added bulk. So much smaller. Her clothes were similar to those that she had worn on their first meeting, when he first saw her approach him, here, in the Tel Mithryn courtyard. That moment seemed eons ago.

Talvas smiled subtly as she looked up towards him and drew closer. She came to a stop in front of him, and there they both stood, among the leaning, growing mushrooms of Tel Mithryn.

"I've been thinking a lot."

It was as if she was continuing a conversation they'd never started.

"And I'm struggling to put everything in order. Things still are not completely making sense; there are many aspects, that used to be secure, that I am now very unsure about."

Talvas looked at her. She was troubled, he was sure. Her face had lost its calculated calm, its determined stillness. Words were pouring out, but with very little meaning - a trait that was certainly not hers.

Saph inhaled deeply and repositioned herself to stand a little straighter.

"I am sorry for the way I spoke to you, the last time I saw you. I am sorry."

Talvas took a breath to reply that he understood and had no hard feelings, when she continued,

"I've decided that I am going back to Skyrim. For a little longer than 'just a trip'.

Many aspects of my life are unclear, at the moment, but there is at least one fact that I can see and that is that I need to go to Skyrim; there are people that I need to see and speak with. Not for me but for them."

Despite the jolt her words caused in his gut, this time, Talvas did not try to interrupt. Even though he certainly wanted to say something, he knew that he should let her talk. She needed to talk, to help herself understand.

"As for my part... I need..."

He face slackened and her eyes drifted away.

"I don't know what I need. And that is why I am going."

Talvas wasn't sure how to react. He didn't fully understand what she was saying, or why she was saying it, but she was going to Skyrim. It was definite that she had decided. In the spin of all that she had said, it was dizzying trying to comprehend it all.

"Talvas."

Her tone had changed, and his name in her voice pulled his focus to her, and everything was a little sharper.

But then he looked at her, and something within her startled, and she withdrew.

Talvas needed to say something.

"When are you leaving?"

"The Northern Maiden is ready to go. She leaves within two hours. We'll be in Skyrim by morning."


	2. Old Friends, New Blood

Her face was peaceful, her mind stolen away from reality. As he hurled the rock from her legs, her brows furrowed and her face contorted as the pain clearly returned. Her eyes shot open, her jaw clenched, her breathing coming out like shards through her nostrils. Her blood was everywhere. Their eyes locked, but still she clenched her jaw, sealing in any sounds, panting unevenly. He needed to stop the bleeding, but the ceiling continued to give way and more boulders toppled from above further down the passage. So Talvas burst out, "I'm sorry," before leaning down to lift her. It was then that he saw the arrow in her shoulder. Or what was left of the arrow. The fletching was poking out from the front, but any remnants of the other end were crushed beneath her. Along with her quiver. He carefully snaked his arm underneath her torso, minding the smashed shards of quiver and arrows, the other under her knees, and lifted her. A cry of agony broke from her. "I'm sorry," he said again, as he turned and headed out of the crypt.

Her breathing had slowed. Panic surged from deep within Talvas as he hurried out of the entrance of the barrow and onto the shadowed grass plains beyond. He lay her down. She was completely silent, her eyes closed. He lay his hands on her stomach, where most of the blood seemed to be flowing from, only now much slower than before, and blindly forced the healing spell out, past the pain of his last reserves of Magika. It was not enough. She had lost too much. He moved his hands to her face, pleading for her to wake. "Saph!"

What could he do? There had to be something.

He needed to get her to more powerful healers. He needed to get her to someone who could help. They were too far from Whiterun and the Temple of Kynerath, and there was no horse.

He stood, raking his hands down his face.

He could try. There was nothing to lose.

He looked up to the sky, remembering the words Saph had shouted only a few, rare times, and screamed, "O-Dah-Ving!"

It was pathetic. A fly's buzz compared to the might of real Thu'um. But he had nothing left.

So he screamed again, his voice cracking raw.

A quiet echo was the only reply.

The wing beats sent a shockwave through him and his head snapped to the sky. The dark form sailed against the clouds, closer by the second. But it was not the blood-red hide of Odahving that shone in the moonlight. The bone-white dragon glowed as it descended gracefully and landed on the other side of Saph. It studied him for a second, before lowering its head, huffing as it scented the motionless body between them. Its movements were unhurried, patient, a pace gained only by a timeless existence. It only quickened Talvas' racing heart. His gut tightened, aware that every passing moment could be Saph's last.

The dragon raised its head again to look at him, an ancient, omniscient gaze, as if in question.

"Help her," he choked, "please."

The dragon looked down again.

Talvas' desperation spiked as he ground out, "Do something."

He immediately regretted it, aware of the majesty of the creature he addressed.

But the dragon's focus remained on Saph, its maw just grazing her head.

Her eyes shifted beneath her lids, which then lifted, slightly.

In a low, sonorous rumble, the dragon spoke,

"Dreh hi laan wah dein hin laas".

After a laboured, barely detectable breath, Saph's eyes slid, painfully slowly, to Talvas, where they lingered.

Saph replied, in a ragged whisper,

"Rok los dii laas".

The dragon followed her gaze, and Talvas was struck still, until Saph's eyes closed once more. He made to move towards her, but the dragon was a step ahead of him. With a mighty beat of wings, knocking Talvas back a step with the force, the dragon was airborne. It gently wrapped its talons around her, cradling her as it lifted higher into the air.

Without thinking, Talvas reached up for her, the word escaping from him, "Wait."

The dragon paused its ascent and studied him once more, that immortal, unwavering gaze chiselling Talvas to the soul.

Seamlessly, the dragon lay Saph on the ground, landing above her like a mountainous shield, and lowered its head.

An offer, Talvas realised. No, not an offer; simply permitting him to proceed. Talvas carefully, respectfully, climbed onto the dragon's neck and grasped its battered horns, one more of a stump than a horn, severed midway. The age of them...

Talvas was not prepared as the dragon again took flight and soared into the night.

The expanse of the marshland below indicated that they were above Morthal. The swamp water glimmered as they glided over them. It seemed they were soon to land. Ahead of them, amid the sparse trees, Talvas could make out a cloaked figure, meandering through the shadows. As the distance between them diminished, the dragon prepared to land. As they reached the ground, the figure turned and stood, watching them. They seemed to startle at the sight of the body the dragon released. Indicated by the creature lowering its head, Talvas dismounted and approached the figure.

At the sight of the burning eyes, Talvas summoned a fire bolt. A spark of red in the figure's pale hand appeared in response. But their other hand rose between them, splayed in defence.

"Stop," a cool female voice ordered from beneath the hood. Those golden eyes shifted to the dragon behind him. "Saph?"

Talvas dropped his hand. So did the woman. She strode past him, right up to the dragon, and to Saph, laid out in the thin grass. She knelt beside her, placing her hands about Saph's neck, her face, her fading skin, examining her. Talvas arrived behind her.

He watched over the stranger's shoulder, expecting some sort of glow to begin emanating from her hands, some sort of magic.

He then realised why the dragon had brought them here, to this woman. This woman who didn't have any healing spells that would help Saph, because this woman didn't need to know any healing spells. The blood that ebbed through her cold veins was enough.

"No." The word was stone.

The woman stilled.

Talvas moved to the other side of Saph, knelt, and said again, "No."

The woman looked up at him, squinting in question. She looked to the dragon. Then again to him. Her face softened. "It would save her." Talvas only noticed then that the woman was holding Saph's hand.

Talvas spoke, "She's been there before, and she said never again."

His eyes dropped to the still face below. She could have been sleeping, were it not for the ashen tone of her skin.

"I would never do so without her permission," the woman said to him, determined truth lining her words, "but she can't give it at the moment." A breath escaped from her, curling in the cold air between them. "It's your call."

Talvas couldn't, he couldn't make this decision. He looked over his shoulder. The dragon watched them, calmly.

He turned back to the woman lying in front of him, and to the woman kneeling opposite him, their hands still joined, Saph's now almost as pale as the snow-white fingers gripping hers. Soon they may be identical.

"She can be cured, afterwards," he half-asked, half-assured, "like before."

The woman silently winced. "Possibly."

He looked again to Saph, and picked up her free hand. As cold as ice.

He wasn't ready to say goodbye. And he didn't think the world was either.

"Do it."

He knew he should probably look away.

But he didn't.

The woman leaned over Saph's body and angled her head. The sound was horrific. And it lasted too long. Talvas turned away.

When the woman retreated, Talvas slowly returned his gaze. He looked only at Saph's closed eyes, avoiding the gaping wound new on her neck.

He heard the dragon shift and braced himself against the gust of air as it took flight. The beat of wings faded into the distance; its task accomplished.

The marsh was silent. Or perhaps he had just blocked out the world.

He didn't know how long had passed when the woman swallowed and said, "We need to get her somewhere safe."

Talvas didn't respond.

Slowly, the woman made to lift Saph, as if checking with him whether she was allowed to. He didn't move. When the woman had her arms beneath Saph, Talvas placed the hand he was holding into her lap, and stood himself. The woman followed, raising Saph with ease and grace. She began to walk.

"Where?" His voice felt foreign.

"I know a place. It's close."

Talvas followed and said nothing more.

**...**

On the other side of the marsh, a light flickered. The woman seemed to be heading in that direction. Talvas didn't register the water in his boots as they waded and trudged toward that light. As they neared, the shape of a house formed behind a cluster of trees on the farthest mound of the marsh. The source of the light turned out to be a lantern, placed on the floor amid work tables and chests, in front of the building's front door.

A building site, evident by the nature of the work benches and by the wooden framework of an extension that Talvas could just begin to make out behind the small house.

A man sat on a tree stump some way away; he stood as they approached. A dog sat beside the stump, its tail wagging expectantly.

"She'll be alright." The woman said to the man. He nodded, but did not sit back down, his studded armour gleaming in the lantern light. They continued to the front door and entered.

The room was bare, save one bed against the right wall, a chest against the other and a small work bench in the closest corner.

The woman lay Saph out on the bed, then turned to Talvas as if to say something. She didn't. She glanced at Saph then gently said, "She'll wake in a few hours. She'll..." the woman hesitated. "She'll be alright."

She paused. Talvas didn't bother reading the thoughts on her face. She glanced again at Saph. Then turned to leave.

"Could you get some hot water?" His voice rasped against his throat. "For her wounds."

The woman blinked at him, but nodded and left through the door.

Talvas approached the bed. He sat beside her feet. He had no words. Or too many.

The door clicked open and the woman returned, bearing a bowl of water. Where she got the bowl from, he didn't know. As she walked across the small space, a flame flicked into her palm, positioned beneath the bowl, heating it. By the time she handed it to him, the water was lightly steaming. She reached into a pocket and handed him a cloth. Then she left him again.

Talvas placed the bowl and cloth on the floor and carefully began unbuckling Saph's body armour. As he peeled it away, it became apparent how little had been left intact. Both the armour, and Saph. Gashes, slices, bruises and darkened blood covered her torso. He continued to avoid looking at the wound that marred her neck. Her shoulder still contained the arrow. He fished that out first and grimaced at the thought of the damage it had done to her ability to move her arm. Then, equipping the soaked cloth, he wiped away the gore. What was left was the result of his sorry attempt at healing her when they first had emerged from the crypt. No more healing or bandaging would be necessary, he supposed, as no blood would now flow from the wounds, anyway.

Talvas finished cleaning up Saph and pulled the blanket over her. He sat and watched over her, and waited for what the morning might bring.


	3. Old Friends, New Blood - Part 2

The light singed against her closed lids. And she was so thirsty.

She was alive. At least she thought she was.

She dared open her eyes to survey the damage.

But her body was covered by a deep green blanket. She didn't recognise the room. At first. But her head was too heavy to think about that.

As the world came into focus, she saw him. Perched at the foot of the bed, head drooped and dozing. Her hand lay in his. She gave his a small squeeze. He blinked awake and settled his gaze upon her. A mixture of relief and worry grew across his face. She rubbed her thumb against his warm hand. It did nothing to relieve that facial expression. They may have remained staring at each other like that had the door not creaked open. 'Surprise' didn't quite encompass the entirety of the emotions that bloomed within her as Serana entered the room.

It was the sight of that long lost friend that ignited the memory within her, explaining that somehow familiar feeling she had awoken with. And the look on Talvas' face she had awoken to. Saph's stomach dropped.

She caught Serana's eyes, eyes that she knew she now shared, and smiled slightly. The gesture was returned.

But Saph flicked her eyes to Talvas, hoping Serana would understand the message and the request in her face. It appeared she did, as she began to back towards to door, mouthing that they would talk later. The door clicked softly behind her.

"Saph, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Saph shut her mouth. She had been about to say the same thing.

Saph tried to sit up, and pain sliced across every inch of her. Talvas was there in an instant, and helped her rise slowly, gradually. She now sat on the edge of the bed, Talvas crouched in front of her.

She pulled away the blanket from her lap and recoiled at the mass of dark red carvings across her front. She looked away. She looked up and forward, into his face. After a breath she said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not being careful, for not being smart and for nearly getting myself killed. Well," she looked down at herself for a second, "for getting myself killed."

Talvas didn't laugh.

He was studying her. Studying her hands that he held. She knew they were cold to the touch.

She swallowed. She knew what he was thinking, because she was thinking about the same thing. Or more accurately, she was trying to not think about it.

"It was the only option I had," he said, perhaps more to himself than to her. "I couldn't... I wasn't ready to watch you die."

She squeezed his hands and closed her eyes. There were a million things that she wanted to say but wouldn't pass her tongue.

She cursed herself as he pulled away, rising from his crouch, letting go of her hands. Her hands that she knew possessed no warmth. She had made him make this decision. She had put him through yet another ordeal. And now he was left disgusted and betrayed. And she would have to watch him walk away from her. His Saph had died outside that crypt. She should have told Paarthurnax to leave her there.

She clenched her fists, the pain from her wounds, she knew, would be nothing compared to the wave that would soon hit her.

But his hands appeared at either side of her face, and then he was kissing her. She raised her arms to embrace him, and pain lanced across her arm, down her back, sending her falling backwards, crying out as she broke from his hold. Another cry barrelled from her as she hit the bed, the arm Talvas shot out arriving too late as she landed atop it. A mixture of dull aches and sharp soreness webbed out across her back and stomach. He was beside her, his left arm trapped beneath her. The sound that came out of her was some mutation between laughter and anguish. He leant down, looped his free arm under her legs and swivelled her so that she was lying down the correct way along the bed, clambering over the mattress in order to do so. She couldn't help her sigh.

"I know you don't like being manhandled and that you can perfectly take care of yourself," he said as he leaned over her, "but I'd just like to make things a little easier. Once you gain control over most of your limbs, I'll leave you be."

She huffed through her smile and pain and whispered, "Thank you," and she knew that he'd understood the gratitude was for more than just righting her on the bed.

After a moment, he twisted from where he'd braced himself above her and shuffled so that he was lying beside her, and gently placed his arm over her waist. She nestled into him as best she could, looking up into his face, before turning onto her side, with him carefully tugging her closer to him. Then they both were quiet, knowing that where their thoughts wandered was perhaps best left unspoken for now.


End file.
